


Seven Devils

by Jaxness



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Demon!Stiles, Everyone is a dick but Stiles, It's all Scott's fault, Pack Feels, Puppy Piles, basically everyone - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 21:43:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaxness/pseuds/Jaxness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holy water cannot help you now. Any of you.<br/>Or the one in which, despite Stiles' best intentions, there is really no way to avoid being possessed by a demon when all you want to do is cry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The backstory

**Author's Note:**

> I love the pack feeling guilty. So, yes, this will be one of those fics. Also, I beta myself so if you'd like to flame, go right ahead. Just know that I get off on any and all reviews while thinking of your username.

The problem was that no one really looked. They were all so quick to write him off or take him at face value that they couldn’t see anything. And Stiles put up with it because he hadn’t really been seen in a long time.

His mom had seen him though that was hardly surprising. All mothers were gifted with the ability to know the true worth of their children. She saw how clever he was and how the fact that he was clever never really mattered to him. How he valued friendship over being the top student or being the best athlete, even in primary school. Stiles glowed under her praise and love.

Then she got sick.

And it wasn’t a fast sickness, oh no, it was terrible and slow and robbed her of everything before she finally had to let go. She lost her strength and her hair and her _teeth_ and she bruised so easily...

It wasn’t easy and Stiles and his dad watched in horrified silence as the light left their lives with shuddering gasps and painful retches.

That was really the beginning. The beginning of Stiles disappearing. He could see that now but he’d lied to himself for so long. He’d always been rather gifted at lying.

After his mom died, Stiles was in shock. He didn’t know how to talk to Scott about it though heavens knows the other boy tried to be there for him in his own messed up way. He needed his dad.

But Dad wasn’t there.

The sheriff was in the bottom of a bottle that refilled itself with every passing day. Food in the house grew scarce and Stiles, not being forced to bathe, became filthy. He was late to school every day until Mrs. McCall started to pick him up. It wasn’t until the last of the food that concerned neighbors had delivered ran out that Stiles knew he had to act.

His dad was hurting, Stiles needed to be a big boy and be there for him. He knew his father still loved him and he knew that his ADHD was a problem and he knew it was hard. But most importantly he knew what he had to do. And that was how, at the age of 12, Stiles Stillinski learned how to take care of himself.

He walked to the grocery store and bought food and made dinner for two even though the second person never really ate. He developed a schedule and stuck to it with a fierce determination he’d inherited from his mother. He went to school, he did his homework, he bathed, he took his meds. And he learned how to make everyone know he was okay. The love for words that his mother had instilled in him became his greatest weapon as well as his only salvation. Teachers stopped asking why his dad seldom came to back to school night after being regaled with the newest legislation or the newest murder or the entire history of bear attacks in California.

And when the silence in his lonely house got to be too much, well, he could fill it.

Despite being a pro at surviving virtually on his own, Stiles still considered the day his dad came back to him the best day since his mom died. Sure the sheriff had sat with his kid during anniversaries and birthdays and holidays but he’d never really been there. So when the older man brought back a pizza after finishing his shift at the station early, Stiles cried. So did his dad.

They sat in the living room and ate crappy pizza while watching one of his mom’s favorite movies and he finally felt like he was home again. His dad was looking at him again. It wasn’t perfect by any means but it was something.

Stiles began to breathe. The panick attacks stopped. He went out for lacrosse, dragging asthmatic Scott with him. He played up his crush on Lydia Martin because it connected him, grounded him, and gave him something happy to talk about. Not to mention that she was probably the most epic girl ever of course.

But then Scott was turned into a werewolf.

Stiles felt guilty about precisely three things in his life. One, he got his dad drunk whenever he needed something like a car or whatever(not that his dad didn’t get drunk on a pretty regular basis regardless). Two, he ran his dad ragged with all of his bullshit problems. The third was, of course, getting his best friend turned into a werewolf.

That guilt kept him from being angry when Scott then tried to kill him. By the time Scott made out with Lydia, that guilt was pretty much nonexistent even after the whole doggy bowl thing.

Regardless, Stiles tried to help his friend and his pack at every turn. He gave up hours of sleep to research, drove them around in the middle of the night and even got his ass handed to him by werewolves and kanimas and hunters and all sorts of other shit. And the kicker was was that he felt useful. He felt needed. He felt like these people were his friends and that he would do anything for them. He’d assumed that they’d be there for him or at least had liked him.

Well, you know what they say about assuming.

It started with Scott. Because that’s what everything was about, wasn’t it? Scott. Stiles couldn’t be mad at him even though his “best friend” had continuously ignored him in favor of Allison.

Hey Scott can you help with- oh, okay, you’re busy.

Hey Scott, maybe you can help me not get fucking killed by a Kanima?

Scott, Derek’s here. With teeth.

Scott, I’m so - great, another dial tone.

And Stiles - _stupid, stupid Stiles_ \- had let it go. Scott was busy, Scott had his own life, it was about time Scott got something good in his life.

Gerard beating the _shit_ out of him had finally cleared the wool from Stiles’ eyes. It wasn’t just Scott. _It was everyone_. Because no one asked. No one even knew he was missing.

But Stiles still wanted things to be fine and to be pack so he ignored the signs. He ignored his bruises and his pain and he set about making himself useful again.

It was almost a relief when Peter offered him the bite. Finally someone wasn’t overlooking Stiles. Finally someone was seeing him and actually wanted him. Stiles said no though because even he could tell when someone was _bat shit insane_ and, unlike Scott, he’d never turn his back on his friends. And eventually the pack had begun to grow. Derek, Erica, Boyd, Jackson, Lydia, Scott, Allison, Peter, Danny...and Stiles. And if membership to the club had to be paid in blood and bruises and nightmares, well, Stiles would never complain. Especially after they finally brought his father in on Beacon Hills’ supernatural secret. He was happy. He was part of the pack.

Or that was what he had thought.


	2. Insidious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a terrible person. But Stiles suffers so prettily, can you blame me? And this is a super long chapter. I don't know what came over me. Obviously sadistic things.

Stiles was having a bad day.

No, scratch that, he was having a shitty week. The claw marks running down his back - deep but not deep enough to turn him thank the lord- itched and ached at the same time and made him sit straighter in class than he ever had before.  The fact that Erica had taken to slamming him into his locker whenever she had a message for him from Derek did not help matters. The fact that Scott was ignoring him in favor of Allison (shocker) and had neglected to show up for a gaming night on Tuesday had only served to make him feel worse.

Hell, even  _Isaac_ was ignoring him, something that Stiles couldn't help but be hurt over. He'd thought that the smaller boy and he had grown closer what with Stiles helping him with his nightmares or what not. But apparently that was all he was good for as the other male had not spoken to him since the fight two weeks ago. For god's sake, Jackson wasn't even sneering at him.

_All that_ made his week shitty.

The anniversary of his mom’s death made today shitty. Shittier. Shitiest? Seemed apt seeing as how he'd yet to have a _good_ day this week. All there was was varying levels of shit.

Stiles hated the morning the most on this day. He hated that moment when he felt warm and relaxed and didn't remember what today was. Then the realization would crash in and would steal all the breath from his lungs.

Yeah, this anniversary wasn't any different. At least he'd stopped having panic attacks when he was fourteen. Those first two anniversaries had been absolutely brutal and had incapacitated him for the rest of the day.

As it was, Stiles was thankful that it was a Saturday. Even if he wasn't reduced to a wheezing mass of hyperactive panic he didn't need to be surrounded by chaotic teenagers at school. Instead, Stiles needed routine on this day.

Blearily, Stiles got ready for the day and tried to not think for a little bit. He downed his adderall first thing and made sure to take the prescribed dose. The last thing he needed was to start twitching from on overload today.

He dressed, he brushed his teeth and made his way downstairs. Stiles' brow furrowed as he took in the empty kitchen. Normally, he and his dad spent the day together. Scott would be over sometime around noon and then they'd drop him off back at home before going to the cemetery. Then they'd go get curly fries and watch one of her movies before heading to bed.

A tendril of anxiety snuck its way into his mind and Stiles brutally shoved it down. At one point the deviation from the schedule would have sent him spiraling into near-asthmatic panic but facing down things that could kill you on an almost weekly basis had taught Stiles to have a bit of a cooler head. As he calmed himself down, Stiles happened to glance at the clock.

6:45 am.

Well then.

That would explain it. Stiles must have been dreading today more than he thought if he was up so early on a _Saturday_. It was disappointing that it was too late to go back to sleep.

Stiles looked around the deserted downstairs for something to do until his dad woke up. TV was out, Stiles was rocking on his heels. There was no way he would be able to sit still for five minutes of any show. He and his dad needed to be together today so a walk through the woods was also out.

Stiles tried not to think about his mom as he pulled out the old pans and bowls that she had used to make breakfast every Saturday morning. She'd always made french toast and bacon and fruit salad. She'd liked the way the fruit had added so much color to the plate.

_Best way to start the day,_ she'd say,  _with a rainbow_. In hindsight it was kind of dumb. And if Stiles teared up a little at the memory, well, no one was awake to see the traitorous moisture.

Today he was going to be okay. He was not going to break down on his dad. His dad was still dealing with all of the murders that had happened that year. To pay off some of his guilt, Stiles planned to be strong for his dad today.

Mechanically, Stiles got the eggs and the makings if scrambled eggs from the fridge. It was now 7 am. His dad was always awake by eight so Stiles took his time. He lost himself in the feel of the whisk and the rhythmic motion of dicing things and the crispness of the water he used to wash the fruit.

By eight o'clock it was all done and laid out on the table. The pans had been scrubbed and the stove top cleared. Stiles settled down to wait for his dad.

At 8:15, he got up and peered up the stairs. His dad wasn't miraculously standing on the landing so Stiles went back to the kitchen. He was probably still sleeping, he'd taken the night shift last night and Stiles knew how tiring it was for him to deal with all of these deaths.

At 8:30, he found the broom and began to sweep the kitchen to give his hands something to do. Otherwise he'd be racing up the stairs to shake his parent awake and the Sheriff did not deserve to spend more time than absolutely necessary awake on this day.

At nine o'clock the food was stone cold and Stiles was beginning to think something was terribly wrong. The Sheriff never slept past 8:30, much less all the way to nine. He would just go make sure his dad was alive at the very least.

Stiles pretended the concern was a joke and not something he was legitimately beginning to freak out about.

The Sheriff was not in his room.

Stiles blinked in shock at the neatly made bed. His dad wasn't in bed. But he wasn't downstairs. Which meant he wasn't in the house.

Stiles burst into action.

He flat out ran back downstairs and nearly broke the stand the phone was standing on so forcefully did he pick up the device. With trembling hands he dialed the station's number.

"Beacon Hills Police Station, how may I help you?"

"Hi, it's Stiles, is, uh, is my dad there?" Stiles couldn't even be bothered that his voice broke twice.

The man was silent, no doubt picking up on the panic in Stiles' voice. But, no, that wasn't right because he still wasn't saying anything. Oh god, his dad wasn't there. His dad was missing. Or his dad was hurt or shot or  _dead and it was his fault_ -

"Stiles? Did you not get my note? It's on the door." His dad's voice.  _It was his dad's voice_. Stiles took in great gulps of air, feeling his heart rate begin to turn to normal. His dad was safe, he was fine, he was at the station not out in the woods getting mauled by wolves.

"Stiles, what's wrong?" The Sheriff sounded concerned and a little harried. Stiles pushed down the remnants of what could have been a panic attack of truly massive proportions and gave a shaky laugh.

"You're not at home," he stated it simply, letting the accusation hang in the air. He was too raw right now to acknowledge the tension suddenly present between them.

"Stiles-" his dad sighed, guilt creeping into the tone.

"You need to be home," he interrupted. "We're supposed to be together today." Today, the day that mom died. You're supposed to be here, eating breakfast with me and telling me things about her. But Stiles didn't say all that. He didn't have too.

"I know," the Sheriff said quietly, "I, god, I  _know_ , Stiles. But there's this case in the next town over. We think it's connected to one of the murders we had last month." The Sheriff fell silent.

Stiles was smart. He knew what his dad was saying. He was going into the next county for this case. They wouldn't be spending the day together. They wouldn't be eating the breakfast he'd made at seven freaking a.m. and they wouldn't be going to the cemetery tonight.

Stiles thought about brushing it off. He thought about assuring his dad that it was okay, that he understood. But, despite his resolve to be strong for his dad, Stiles couldn't do toady without him. He was hurt that his dad was constantly at the station. He was tired of handling all of these things alone because his dad wouldn't look at him.

"Come home," Stiles whispered, this time very conscious of the break in his voice. He cleared his throat. "Come home."

_At the very least tell me flat out that you won't be._

_  
_"I...I can't, Stiles."

Stiles tasted ash in his mouth. This was just like those first few months after his mom died. His dad wouldn't be there for him. The rejection, because that was what this was, hurt.

And yet Stiles still said "Okay".

Nothing else. Just okay. His voice was dead and cold, he could tell, and it wasn't forgiveness. It was an acknowledgement of the way things were and nothing more.

"Thanks for understanding," The Sheriff said, clearly relieved. "I'll be back tomorrow morning."

Stiles didn't even offer an affirmative. Instead, he moved to hang up the phone. The Sheriff still managed to hang up first.

Brown eyes regarded the phone without really seeing it. It would be easy to break. Just throw it against the wall and watch it shatter. Just...loose control.

If he wanted to avoid the panic attack he felt tickiling the edges of his consciousness, losing control was not an option. Instead he laid the phone down carefully and stood stock still in the middle of the kitchen for several long, tense minutes. Then, with the sudden motion associated with him, Stiles ran upstairs, grabbed his jacket and keys, and headed purposefully for the front door.

The white paper taped to it stopped him with his hand on the handle.

" _Stiles_ ," he mouthed as he read. He felt numb. " _Gone to Rosenville for a case. Sorry I'm not there, I know we had plans. We'll hang out next weekend. -Dad_."

Stiles felt bitterness well up in his chest. Next weekend. He'd heard that before. He crumpled the note in one fist and dropped it on the ground. Then he opened the door, got in his Jeep and drove to Scott's.

He just needed some of the routine back. It didn't matter that it was only 9:45 or that Scott would probably still be asleep. He needed his best friend, he needed to sit and play video games with his best friend.

Stiles tried not to think until he was faced with the McCall's door.

Mrs. McCall's car was not in the driveway (she was probably at work) but Stiles still knocked, hoping that Scott would come down and let him in before he had to use his key. He needed the comfort of someone letting him in right now. He needed someone to want to be around him right now.

Scott didn't answer the door. No one did.

Stiles let himself in and made a bee line to the other boy's room. He didn't knock this time, smile already fixed into place. He was ready to forget for a little while and nobody could help him with that like Scott and a few good video games.

Scott wasn't in his room. An embarrasingly thorough and frantic search of the house did not reveal the beta to him either.

Stiles immediately felt uncomfortable and shaky in his best friend's home. No one was there.  _No one was there_.

He staggered into the too silent kitchen. Maybe..yes, there. A note, a clue to where he could find Scott.

_Hey son, off to the hospital! I packed a cooler for you, hope you have fun on your trip! Say hi to all your friends for me. Love, Mom_

Blindly, he left the building and locked it behind him with clumsy fingers. He got into his jeep and just sat there in front of his best friend's house for a solid fifteen minutes.

He didn't know what to do.

Any other day he would be done with this utter bullshit. Scott didn't want to hang out? Fine. His dad was taking double and then triple shifts? No problem, Stiles could handle a few hours on his own.

But not today. Today he needed someone he knew. He needed to find Scott. And Scott was always with Allison.

Stiles didn't care that he was not the most favored person when it came to the Argents. He didn't care that Allison's grandfather had beat the shit out of him and Chris Argent had never cared.  He just drove, parked, got out of the car, and knocked.

Chris Argent opened the door looking like he'd never needed to sleep a day in his life. Piercing blue eyes clouded over with confusion as they came to rest on the pale boy on his doorstep.

"Stiles?" There was a not of incredulousness that Stiles would have remarked on immediately had he been in his right mind. Now he ignored it.

"Is Scott here?" he asked bluntly. His fingers of his right hand began to twitch against his thigh and he wrapped them around the hem of his shirt to stop the involuntary action.

"No," said Chris slowly. "Stiles, does your dad know your here?"

"Is Allison here?" Now he was almost desperate.

"No," Chis answered, folding his arms. "She went on the trip with Scott. A trip I was under the impression you would be on with the rest of the pack. Has something happened?"

Stiles swallowed hard, ignoring the older man's alarmed posture. "Where, uh, can you tell me where they went?"

"Stiles, what's wrong?" The words, an echo of those his father had spoken to him earlier that morning, were almost Stiles' undoing.

"Nothing," Stiles replied immediately to the authoritative tone. "No one's in danger...it's just...I really need to know where they are."

Chris seemed satisfied with the answer. "I don't really know. All Allison said was that it was a hiking trip, there'd be cell service and that she'd be back in time for school on Monday."

Stiles nodded jerkily. "Right. Right, uh, thanks. Sorry to bother you." He beat a hasty retreat back to his car.

Stiles began to drive home. A trip. A trip he hadn't been invited too. Everyone else was there but Stiles. It was hard to believe. He couldn't believe it.

The jeep protested as Stiles pulled onto the side of the road. The first number was punched into his phone before he was consciously aware he'd taken out his cell phone.

"Hey, you've reached Scott-" Hang up. Dial another number.

"This is Allison's phone, I'm not here-" Hang up. Dial.

"Hello, you've reached Derek Hale-" Hang up. Dial.

"Bitch, you've reached Erica-" 

"-Danny-"

"-Isaac Laahey-"

"-Jackson-"

"-Lydia-"

"-Boyd-"

No one. No one was answering. Stiles could feel the panic begin to rob him of his vision and it was the panic he blamed for the next number he called.

"'Ello?"

"Peter, it's Stiles." Long pause."Where's the pack."

"Stiles," Peter finally drawled cautiously, as if speaking to a rabid animal. "You're not with them?"

"No," Stiles said shortly. "Where are they."

Peter became even more cautious if possible. "They're on a pack bonding trip."

"Where. Are. They."

"Look, Stiles," Peter suddenly said bluntly. "It's a pack trip. I'd love to tell you where they are but the fact that you weren't invited tells me that you aren't pack and I'm not allowed to give out that information to non-pack members."

"Not pack," Stiles repeated, lips numb with shock. But...he'd thought...

"No. Apparently, and I'm just as shocked as you, you're not pack. If you were you'd be bonding with them."

Stiles took a shuddering breath. "I'm not pack."

Peter's voice softened. "Stiles, I know this is a shock but if you just talk to-"

Stiles didn't hear who he should talk to. Instead he hung up the phone and drove. He didn't know where he was going. He only knew that he needed to somehow get away from that terrible realization.

_I'm not pack_.

It made sense. The way they'd been ignoring him, the way they never wanted him around. The death threats from Erica and Derek, how uncomfortable Danny was around him, the way Scott consistently chose them over him. Now that he knew, there were a thousand ways they had show him that he wasn't pack. He'd just been that annoying kid, messing up everything and trying way too hard.

_I'm not pack_.

He was going to throw up. He pulled over again and staggered out of the car to the side of the road. He hadn't eaten anything since yesterday afternoon. He'd been dreading this day far too much to eat last night. He threw up what remained of his ADD medication and wiped his mouth with a cold, trembling hand. Then he took a moment to look around.

He'd driven to the cemetery. Without thinking about it, he made his way to his mom's grave.

"Hi, Mom," he said, eyes taking in the white stone and the black words. He sat down on the ground in front of her grave and looked up at the stone angel guarding her final resting place. Her eyes were cold and unforgiving.

_I'm not pack_.

Stiles' lungs began to constrict and he gasped for air. His eyes grew far too hot and his tears scalded him as they fell. He lost control of his limbs that drew themselves up and in until he was curled in a fetal position on the ground.

He couldn't breathe, the world was closing in on him, and he couldn't see. All he could feel was the pain ripping apart his chest as those damning words looped themselves in his brain.

_Not pack, not pack, not pack, not pack_

Stiles lost control and surrendered himself to the gasping sobs and the terrible lack of air. He was choking and dying and in pain.

It was no wonder that he hardly noticed as black smoke surrounded him and forced its way down his throat.

And since no one was there, no one else noticed it.

Not until it was too late.


	3. The Pack and The Sheriff and Other Retarded Parties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should this be Sterek? Or Danny/Stiles? Or no pairing?  
> Also, sorry for how long it took to upload this. I am a college student and many of you know what that's like.  
> I don't have to make it romantic. If I do it will be, like, a hint at the end because I am rather terrible at romance. And if I don't it's just going to be a "whatever I feel like" ending. Which won't be for a while.  
> And I have more fun tearing their lives apart than putting them back together. But I'd be willing to try. For you.  
> So...here's the chapter that's been a month in the making (not really, I spent three days writing it).
> 
> Oh, one last thing, my demons are inspired by the demons from the show Supernatural. It's going to be a little different but not by much.

"I am so done with sleeping in the woods," Lydia snarled and ripped the last leaf from her hair furiously.

"Relax, babe," Jackson smirked, stretching languidly from his own position on the ground, "It's only been two nights. We're done."

"Shut up, Jackson," she growled back. She popped open her compact and used the mirror to try and put her hair back in some semblance of order.

The rest of the pack was stirring now. Erica crawled out from the tent she'd thoughtfully brought for only herself (though Boyd had ended up sharing with her) and groaned.

"No, I'm with Lydia on this one. Why can't we train from the Hale house? At least it has beds now."

"Because," Derek interrupted, striding into camp with a young buck over his shoulder. Immediately, Danny, Isaac, Scott, Allison and Boyd snapped awake. Derek had taken to attacking them suddenly to hone their instincts.

"Because," Derek continued, "You are all comfortable in Beacon Hills. You know the smells and woods there. Here you've had to adapt to all the new sensory input. Clear?"

Lydia glared for a moment before looking away and nodding. She might not have been a wolf, but she knew better than to challenge her alpha. Only Scott and Jackson were still dumb enough to do that.

"Now, breakfast," Derek said and tossed the dead dear into the middle of their camp. Erica grimaced at the implication.

"I am not skinning that," she whined. "Those rabbits yesteday destroyed my favorite shirt."

"Well maybe you shouldn't have worn it to a training camp," Isaac muttered while changing into clean clothes. Erica leaped over to him, grabbed him around the neck and clenched down.

"I'm sorry, Isaac," she said sweetly, "What was that you said?"

Isaac let out a strained choke, unable to gather enough air to reply. His hands scrambled against her forearm as his face began to turn bright red.

"Lay off him," Scott demanded from across the camp where he was helping Allison up. With a smirk Erica let go suddenly, sending Isaac sprawling to the ground.

"What the  _fuck -"_ he started angrily, rubbing at his throat.

"I'll skin the deer," Allison interrupted quickly. She turned to Danny. "But that means you're cooking."

Danny held up his hands and nodded before beginning to roll up his sleeping bag. As the newest wolf, he'd felt the need to bring one though the others knew that the elements wouldn't bother them.

The next few minutes were spent in silence as they worked to clean up and prepare breakfast. Jackson and Scott ended up helping Allison at Derek's command lest the deer preparation take too long.

"What time are we going to be back in town?" Danny asked after breakfast. "I've got a paper due for econ that I need to work on."

"Dude," Scott started, wide-eyed. "Is that due?"

"Yeah," Jackson drawled. "Tomorrow." Scott cursed.

"We'll head back around two," Derek stated calmly. "We're going to be doing some sparring before that."

"Um," Allison spoke up, "Do you mind if I call my Dad real fast? He wanted me to tell him when I was coming in. You know, just in case."

Derek sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. You can all use your phones for five minutes. But then I want to see some effort, okay?"

He received seven cheerful acknowledgments as the pack lunged for their bags. Derek had made them turn off their phones Friday night when they'd arrived after Lydia had spent dinner texting rather than bonding. It was safe to say that the teenagers were a little bit in withdrawal.

Derek wondered if he was doing them any favors by letting them have their phones. Addiction was bad no matter the form it took. Eh, he wasn't a shrink. He pulled out his own phone and waited for it to power up.

"Stiles called me," Jackson said, disgusted. "Who the fuck gave him my number?"

"He has all of our numbers, dipshit," Erica retorted before blinking in confusion at her phone. "He called me too."

The rest of the pack also found missed calls from Stiles.

"And me," Isaac spoke up. His eyebrows lowered with worry. "Do you think something happened?"

"He would have left a voice message," Lydia retorted, seemingly unworried that their absent friend had called.

"You know Stiles," Scott said, "he probably got bored and decided to call everyone."

"But he called me," Boyd replied. Scott had no response for that. Stiles didn't really know Boyd and wouldn't have just called him for no reason.

Derek suddenly swore and paced away, phone to his ear. The other wolves could hear as he greeted Dr. Deaton and looked at one another with raised eyebrows. Before they could speculate on what the vet wanted, Allison interrupted.

"Guys," Allison said walking back from where she'd went to call her dad. "Dad says Stiles stopped by the house yesterday looking for Scott."

Scott winced. "Sorry. I'll go see him when we get back into town."

"Scott, why would he go to my house?" Allison asked, brow furrowed. "You know how he feels about my family. It sound serious."

"He's probably just mad that he couldn't come with us," Lydia answered before Scott could. "He always interrupts these things. Remember last time we had a training session?"

It had been at the Hale House. Stiles had shown up late and stopped their sparring for a snack break. Then when Derek had demanded that the pack get back to training, he'd tried to spar with Isaac. He'd ended up mildly concussed and had been subsequently banned from sparring by a furious Derek. Isaac to this day got flack from the alpha for damaging the fragile human.

"Yeah," said Allison, still hesitating. Something wasn't sitting right with her but she let it go for now. There wasn't anything supernatural in Beacon Hills at the moment so Stiles probably wasn't being murdered, she reasoned.

Erica snorted, tapping away at her phone. "I don't see why Derek even lets the kid hang around. He just messes everything up."

"That's not fair," Danny protested. "Everyone makes mistakes. Scott forgot to bring the food!"

Scott sent a hurt look over to Danny. "I said I was sorry."

"Why are you defending Stillinski?" Erica asked incredulously, ignoring Scott. "You don't even like him!"

Danny shifted uncomfortably but didn't deny the accusation. "He tries. He's tried to be there for the pack, so what if he messes up every once in a while?"

"It matters because he's not pack," Erica hissed.

Isaac reared back as if struck. Yeah, he'd been trying to not depend on Stiles and he didn't think the pack should use him as much as they did but Stiles was still one of them!

"That's not true," he snarled back. "Stiles was pack before you, before me, before-"

"And yet," Erica said triumphantly, "We're here while he isn't."

"That's just because he can't train like we can because he's human!"

"Allison is human and she's here."

"That's different, Allison can-"

"If Stiles was pack, Derek would have brought him here for bonding," Erica stated, looming over Isaac threateningly. Boyd stirred, not liking the threat of violence between pack members so early in the day.

Just then Derek came back to camp, eyebrows drawn together. Isaac leapt away from Erica.

"Derek! Erica says that Stiles isn't pack, is that tr-"

"Everyone pack up," Derek ordered. He didn't acknowledge Isaac and the younger male felt a sliver of resentment rise up within him. Stiles was the only one who listened to him.

"Why?" Jackson demanded.

Derek growled at him, eyes flashing red and Jackson whimpered before dropping his gaze. Satisfied with his submission, Derek turned to the group at large.

"Deaton called. He says there's a demon in Beacon Hills."

"A demon?" Boyd asked incredulously.

"Demons are real?" Danny yelped. Allison just looked pale.

"Yes," growled Derek, "And if we don't find it and exorcise it, Deaton says there won't be a Beacon Hills left."

Isaac's ire immediately vanished and he joined the pack in their frantic scramble to get on the road.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Stiles woke up painfully. His entire body ached and his muscles trembled from the stress placed on them hours before.

He'd fallen asleep in front of his mother's grave after a massive panic attack. Great. What a perfect way to end the previous day. Which he wasn't thinking about. Nope. He wasn't thinking about it at all. He resolutely ignored the way his breath hitched and the trembling in his limbs increased.

Yeah, he was fine. Completely alright. Not.

But those... issues had to wait. Now he had to focus on getting up, driving home and taking a shower. Falling asleep on the grass in a graveyard had left him feeling cold, dirty, and a little creeped out. He felt off. A shower would fix that.

_Really, Stillinski? What else can a shower fix? Not what really matters, that's for sure._

Stiles shook off that little voice. Now wasn't the time for those type of thoughts. His dad would be home today and by the looks of the sun it was already high noon. He needed to get up and go home. Stiles stood.

Ow. Muscles screamed at him as he gained his full height and the high school boy grit his teeth from the pain. Apparently, he'd spent the entire night locked in one position, in the cold, after having over exterted his body from the panic attack. Perfect.

Ignoring the protests of his body (and, hey, at least he wasn't completely focused on the claw marks on his back anymore) Stiles dragged himself put of the cemetery. 

Safely ensconced in his precious jeep, Stiles finally let himself think about yesterday. He needed to deal with this now before he saw anyone.

_If he saw anyone. They all made it pretty clear they wanted nothing to do with him_.

Stiles gasped for air as the thought triggered a small panic attack. With an iron fist, he forced himseld to breathe normally. This was why he had to. He needed to do this or else he would be looking at more panic attacks than his body could handle in one day.

Issue one; his dad. The Sheriff hadn't been there. Stiles tried to relax into that truth. His dad was busy, true, but he always was. He could have taken a fucking _Saturday_ off to be with his son. Especially on the day she died. But the Sheriff hadn't.

_Because he didn't want to be around you. You're so fucking needy, who would want that?_

Stiles' chest ached at the thought. His dad didn't need him and, worse, didn't want him. That was...not okay but that was it. Stiles couldn't change that. The hurt and anger was not enough and the feeling of needing to cry was just fucking pathetic. He was just going to have to be okay for another year or so and then he would be at college. Then his dad would finally be rid of him.

Stiles took a moment to adjust to that new hole in his chest before brutally continuing.

Scott.

The boy had been Stiles best friend since elementary school. He was practically Stiles' brother, or Stiles had thought he was. It was time to stop thinking that way. Scott and him had been drifting apart ever since the other boy had been bitten. Scott got bigger, better, stronger. He got his dream girl and a family and a mother who cared. Why would he need Stiles?

_Why he was even friends with you to begin with-_

Stiles didn't let that errant thought to complete itself. Scott and him...they were over. Ha. Sounded like a bad break up. And it kind of was, in a purely platonic sense. Stiles couldn't be there for the other boy like the pack was and Scott hadn't been there for Stiles in a long time. Yesterday had just driven the point home.

Stiles waited for that realization to stab him and was only mildly surprised when his chest gave a mild twinge in reaction instead. He was numb to the hurt now. Or maybe there was just too much of it to realize where one hole began and another ended.

Last one. Stiles took a couple of deep breaths.

The pack. Namely that Stiles wasn't in the pack. His mouth twisted bitterly at the thought. He'd been so foolish to think...to even  _consider_ that they were family. They weren't even friends.

But that would be okay too.

_Liar._

No. It would be okay because Stiles didn't have any other way. He'd done what he could.  _Wasn't much, failure._ Yeah, so it wasn't much but he'd done it. And he was done trying.

Stiles pretended that he felt better instead of worse.

He picked up his phone that he'd left in the car to check the time. To his surprise he had two messages. He didn't think anyone would have called him back. Illogically, he felt a spark of hope ignite in his chest. Someone cared enough to call back.

He exited out of the message notification, wanting to keep that for a moment, keep that hope alive. It was 9 am and Stiles was surprised that he'd slept for that long on the cold ground.

He thumbed through the missed calls. The first was from his dad and came in around nine last night. The second was from Deaton and had come in around eight that morning.

Well. It wasn't Scott or Isaac or Derek. But it was enough.

"Stiles, it's Dad. You- you're not picking up at the house. Are you mad at me? I had to go, for the case."

_More like for you_. Stiles didn't try to fight the bitterness that washed through him.

"And that's why I'm calling. The case is going to take a little longer than I thought. I'm going to be out of town for  little longer than planned. I don't know how long though. I'll...I'll call you later."

Stiles let his head hit the back of his seat with a thunk. A hurt smile played around his lips. Of course. Of course his dad was going to be gone for a "little longer". He'd heard that before too.

_He's never going to come back_.

Stiles played the message from Deaton to avoid thinking about it.

"Stiles," the good vet said his name tensely and Stiles couldn't help but turn his full attention to the message. "I wouldn't have called you but I can't reach the rest of the pack."

Huh, even with the "spark" Stiles wasn't good enough for Deaton. He was getting a lot of that lately.

"You need to find them and tell them to call me. There's a demon in town." Then he hung up.

Stiles stared blankly at the phone in his grip. Deaton had sounded stressed and he hadn't done any of the vague bullshit Stiles had come to expect fromt the man. Couple that with a demon in Beacon Hills...

He'd read about demons in the bestiary. They were monsters of destruction but that wasn't what made them dangerous. What made them dangerous was that, if they chose to be, they were undetectable. Stiles had a theory that a werewolf might be able to sniff them out but the hunters had no such advantage. Did Chris know? No, thay wasn't important, he needed to get to the pack and-

_What, you think you'll help? Like all the other times where someone almost got killed?_

Stiles' pursed his lips. That was right. He wasn't worth that. The pack probably didn't want to hear from him anyway, judging by the way they were all ignoring his calls and what Peter said. They didn't accept help from non pack members.

Stiles drove home slowly and tried not to think of anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahah yay filler chapter!   
> ...  
> I want to write demon!Stiles but they won't let me. Not yet. Well, the next chapter will be out by Monday. So please accept the filler.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o.O   
> This was super hard to do, guys.

Scott, contrary what was previously said, was a little worried about Stiles. It had just occurred to him that he hadn’t told his best friend that he was going to be out of town this weekend. The realization caused a frown to pull at the teen’s lips. He felt like he’d missed something but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what.

It must just have been that econ paper. Man, he was going to be up all night writing that! Usually Stiles reminded him about due dates and Scott couldn’t help but feel a little hurt that the other boy hadn’t this time.

But Stiles was his bro so he wouldn’t make him feel bad about it or anything.

Allison leaned into him on the next turn, causing Scott to snap out of his very noble thoughts. She was really too perfect for him. She was smart and fantastic and hot...

But he was in a car full of werewolves. Now was not the time to be thinking how hot Allison was.

“So...demons?” Scott asked. Derek growled but otherwise didn’t answer.

“My dad’s never really mentioned them,” Allison said, sounding worried. “He just said that they were super dangerous. I have to tell him about this, you realize,” she addressed Derek, leaning against the seatbelt.

“After we talk to Deaton,” Derek said, pulling into the veterinary hospital. Jackson’s car pulled in just after him.

Deaton was waiting for them anxiously, or as anxious as the normally unflappable vet could get.

“We’ve lost a lot of time,” he informed them. “Maybe next time you all decide to drop off the grid for 48 hours you can tell me in advance.”

“You said something about a demon,” Derek said, characteristically ignoring the rebuke. Deaton sighed.

“That I did. Last night a demonic presence entered Beacon Hills,” Deaton pulled out a large, old tome and placed it on the examination table, “Not much is known about demons. They’re elusive, tricky. There are sightings going back thousands of years. It is theorized that Judas was the first case of true demonic possession recorded while others argue that that honor belongs to Brutus. Both cases end in death and the fall of an entire civilization.”

The new wolves looked at one another with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“You said elusive,” Lydia interjected, eyes sharp. “If they’re so elusive, how come you know one is here?”

“I have my ways,” Deaton said cryptically. “I know it is in Beacon Hills but you need to find out where. It can hide from me at least that much.”

“Well how do we find it?” Isaac asked.

“It has either already possessed someone or will possess someone,” Deaton said, “Demons have no forms of their own. Look for anyone acting out of character, maybe someone starting fights. Demons are known to possess those of high standing so look to anyone with influence. Conversely, they prefer easy prey, people who are mentally vulnerable. Brutus was beginning to doubt a man he loved like a brother when he was possessed. The turmoil made him an easy target and consequently led to the assassination of Caesar.”

“Great,” Jackson snorted, “So we’re looking for some big hot shot who’s going through a mid life crisis? Why in Beacon Hills? Why not in the city?”

Deaton shook his head. “I don’t know. But if I had to guess  I would think that it was due to the high concentration of the supernatural here. Werewolves, witches...that much power can be highly attractive to demons.”

“Okay,” said Derek, “we’re looking for something that can only be tracked through the people it possesses. What are the chances it hasn’t possessed anyone yet?”

Deaton shook his head again. “The longer a demon goes without a vessel, the weaker it gets. I sensed its coming more than 24 hours ago, chances are infinitesimal that it hasn’t already found a host.”

“And when we find that host, what are we supposed to do?”

“Kill them?” Erica asked. Boyd and Danny shot her a look and she shrugged unapologetically. “That’s how this stuff usually goes.”

“Not unless you’re prepared to kill an innocent,” Deaton replied evenly. “No, when you find it, you’ll have to trap it.” He flipped the tome open to a diagram. “This is a Devil’s Trap. once you get the host inside, the demon is trapped. It can’t leave the host and the host can’t leave the circle with the demon still inside. Once you get it in there, you can exorcise it.”

“And how do we do that?” Derek asked, annoyed. Deaton simply raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m sure you have all the resources you need to figure it out.”

Derek’s face twisted. “And what,” he growled, “Resources would that be?”

Deaton looked surprised at the wolf’s confusion. He’d thought that that would be obvious. Whenever the pack had need information, they’d always gotten it from Stiles and that wonderful Bestiary he was working on.

“The Bestiary,” he said with only a hint of disbelief lacing his voice. 

“But the bestiary doesn’t have Demons in it,” Allison pointed out, “My family hasn’t run into them for centuries.”

Deaton frowned. “Stiles’ bestiary.”

“Oh yeah,” said Scott thickly, “he mentioned that he was expanding the bestiary. You think he has demons in his?”

“I would be surprised if he didn’t,” Isaac blurted out. “Every time I see him he’s researching the supernatural.”

“Great,” said Derek, “Then we need Stiles’ bestiary.” The alpha wolf did not seemed pleased at the notion and Deaton felt his frown deepen. The pack didn’t know that Stiles had an enhanced bestiary. Deaton felt confident enough to say that Stiles wouldn’t just keep that to himself so why wasn’t the pack’s first instinct to go to one of its members? Maybe the pack hadn’t been listening to the boy?

Deaton felt a curl of unease unfurl inside of him. He ruthlessly crushed it down. The pack would be fine and, besides, with a demon in residence he had bigger things to worry about. Namely keeping everything else out of Beacon Hills while this issue was dealt with.

“I’ll grab it,” Scott volunteered. “I haven’t seen him awhile,” Scott admitted sheepishly, “I was going to go over there anyway.”

Allison rubbed his arm soothingly. “Stiles understands, you had other things to do. You know he realizes how important it is for you to do pack things.”

Scott shot her a radiant smile. Erica could almost gag on the sappiness in it.

“Meet at the house tonight,” Derek commanded, referring to the refurbished Hale House, “At 7, everyone comes no exceptions.”

Jackson’s mouth snapped shut and he glared at his alpha. He sighed in acquiescence and turned around without another word. Danny and Lydia followed him as he was their ride home.

“Dude,” Scott complained to Derek on the way out to the older man’s car. “I’ve been gone all weekend, my mom isn’t going to be happy with me be going tonight, especially since it’s a school night.”

“Tell her it’s pack business,” Derek ordered, unperturbed by the beta’s whining.

“But-” Scott started but was cut off by a sharp elbow to his side courtesy of Allison.

“Scott,” she said firmly, “This is a little more important, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Scott agreed reluctantly, loathe to disagree with his girlfriend. Besides, she was right, there was a new threat to Beacon Hills and it was their job to stop it.

It was so hard being a bona fide superhero sometimes. Scott didn’t know how he did it. He dropped a kiss on the side of Allison’s head. Well, at least he got the girl.

Derek dropped both Allison and Scott at her house with a reminder to meet up at seven. Isaac waved bye to them as the two wolves drove away.

“I thought you were going over to Stiles’ house,” Allison commented as Scott followed her into the house instead of grabbing the bike he’d left chained up in her open garage.

“Stiles can wait,” Scott said dismissively. “I just thought you might need some backup to tell your dad about the demon.”

“The _what_?” Chris Argent choked out from the top of the stairs where he’d overheard the teens’ conversation.

“Oh, uh,” Scott stammered, “Hi, Mr. Argent.” Allison groaned.

“Did you just say demon?” Chris Argent demanded to know, coming to stand in front of his daughter and her boyfriend. 

“Yeah,” Allison admitted, “That’s why we’re back early. We need to talk.”

The older hunter turned to go into the kitchen, back ram rod straight. With a small frown of apprehension, Allison made to follow. She stopped in the doorway, forcing Scott to backpedal quickly lest he run into her.

“I’ve got this, sweetie,” Allison told him. “Go. I’ll see you at seven.”

Scott nodded miserably. “Sorry he heard me.” Allison sighed.

“Just start working on those werewolf ears, okay?” She gave him a chaste kiss. “Now go.”

Scott went.

_________________________________

Stiles let himself into his house with fumbling fingers and lead feet.  He felt heavy and tired _so tired_. But he knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep, just like every other day this week.

Besides, memories were easier to push back when you were awake. 

He could still see the breakfast dishes on the table, piled high with food. No flies had yet to find it but Stiles knew it was only a matter of time before they did. He should really throw the spoiled food away before it began to food.

Stiles didn’t have the energy. Let it rot. Then maybe he wouldn’t be the only unwanted thing in the house.

_Don’t count on it._

Stiles trudged up the stairs and fell into bed, clothes and all. He paid no mind to the grave dirt now scattered across his sheets. It didn’t matter anyway.

Stiles stared at his ceiling as the silence rang around him. It was weird being alone though, now that he thought about it, he didn’t know why. For a while it had seemed like the pack was always around, constantly demanding things of him. Making him feel wanted. Needed.

But now he realized that it hadn’t been that way at all. Sure they seemed to need his research and help but they’d never researched with him. Derek would order something from him and then leave and the rest hardly came around at all. Stiles had always been alone. He was just too dumb to realize it.

_They should have been here. They were supposed to have-_

Stiles flopped over onto his stomach, barely noticing as his back scraped against the sheets and his entire body protested the motion. He shouldn’t be thinking things like that. They had been busy, he was just helping them out, doing what he could to keep the town _safe_.

_Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, Stiles. Like they thought that was ever enough._

Stiles was abruptly, irrationally furious. The anger was strong and pushed and pulled against the despair lodged so deeply in his breast. How could they have asked him, knowing each and every time how deeply he would fail them?

He was so damn _exhausted_ trying to please them, trying to keep them alive with nothing to show for it. Maybe it would be better if they’d all just _die_ so he wouldn’t have anyone to disappoint anymore. Yes, if only they’d die-

Stiles felt like a bucket of cold water had just him in the face. Had he...? _Why had he just thought that?_ He didn’t want _that_ why would he even - 

The doorbell rang, snapping Stiles out of his horror. He glanced in the mirror hanging on his wall, taking in the faint traces of horror and disgust that still spread across his face. As he watched, his expression mellowed and returned to normal slowly. It was fine, it was all fine. Just an errant thought, he hadn’t actually _meant_ it. He would never, not after his mom.

The doorbell rang again.

Stiles made his way downstairs sedately, with the clearest mind he’d had since he’d woken up in the graveyard. He let the last vestiges of his horror trickle away and the incident with it.

And yet as his hand grasped the cool knob the idea continued to circle distantly in his mind.

_If only they would all just die._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not happy with this chapter, but I've delayed long enough.


	5. Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott comes for a little visit.

Stiles didn’t know what he looked like when he answered the door but judging by Scott’s face, it wasn’t good. Somehow Stiles wasn’t terribly bothered by it at that moment.

“Scott, what are you doing here?” 

_Are you here because of yesterday? Did you get my call and come straight over? Are you here to fix everything, apologize for everything, make everything okay between us? Please tell me you’re here for me._

“Dude, what happened to you?” Scott asked, gesturing to Stiles dirt-covered clothing. “Did you fall into a ditch or something?”

Stiles’ brow furrowed and his hand twitched on the door. “I-”

“Take a bath or something once in a while,” Scott cut him off before he had a chance to respond. The bigger boy pushed by him to enter the house. 

“I need the bestiary,” he concluded without preamble.

Stiles licked dry lips and didn’t turn around as he carefully closed the door.

_Why did I think he’d be here for me, obviously he’s here because he needs something. Stiles, you fool._

_Scott, you idiot._

“Bestiary,” Stiles repeated turning to regard Scott who was wandering into the kitchen. “Allison has a bestiary.”

“Ew,” Scott said, eyeing the food on the table. “That smells just gross, man. How long has that been sitting out?”

“Don’t know,” Stiles mumbled, wrapping his arms around himself. He wondered why Scott could notice day old food but not the smell of grave dirt. Obviously he’d had no reason to become as acquainted with the smell as Stiles as both his parents were still alive even if one was gone.

Jealousy had never sat well with Stiles so he pushed it back. It was still there though, prowling in the back of his mind. Stiles pretended he couldn’t feel its predatory glare.

“Huh,” said Scott. “Where’s the bestiary?” He turned and swept past Stiles and up the stairs. Like he wasn’t there. Like he was nothing.

_You are nothing._

Something inside Stiles rebelled. He was worth more than being used for his Googled knowledge. He was worth more than being constantly pushed aside. He was at least worth his best friend looking him in the goddamn eye before taking what he needed.

He may be nothing but he wasn’t nothing to Scott. Had never been nothing to Scott.

What had changed?

Stiles charged aggressively up the stairs, tunnel vision taking over in his rage. Scott was looking through the papers on his desk as if he had any right.

“Where is it?” Scott asked. 

Stiles’ mind couldn’t seem to process what Scott was saying. It was like he was moving underwater-  heavy and fast all at once. There was a roaring in his ears as his narrow focus fell on the other boy. Touching his things. Demanding things from Stiles as if he had anything to give.

_You are nothing. You have nothing. And you know what? No one cares._

Without conscious thought, Stiles’ hand curled around the paper weight sitting on the corner of his desk. The cool glass served as a distraction for one crucial moment as Stiles registered its existence. His dad had given it to him for his last birthday. Said he though it’d be cool. Stiles had agreed but he knew the truth. He’d seen the exact same paper weight sitting on the edge of the Sheriff’s desk for years after all.

It was a good paperweight. Bright. Colorful. Heavy. Stiles tested its weight in his hand, anger still thrumming through him.

Everyone wanted something from him and Stiles was so tired. He had no more pieces of himself to give when no one was giving anything back. Stiles had made his dad a five course meal for _his_ birthday and bought him two movie tickets to use when he started dating again. The Sheriff had just barely remembered his useless son’s birthday long enough to hand him an unwrapped hunk of heavy glass.

Stiles fingers turned white around the round object. They couldn’t take anything more from him. He wouldn’t let them. Couldn’t let them.

The funny part? Stiles would let them take every piece of him if he thought it’d mean anything. Had almost let them take him apart. Had thought it had meant something ( _not pack_ ). But their disappointment burned him every time. Their judgement stabbed at him.

He wouldn’t survive if he had to take one more narrow eyed glare. They had to go.

Then they wouldn’t be so disgusted with him anymore.

Stiles’ gaze had returned to Scott’s back as the werewolf rummaged through Stiles’ stuff. He had to go. The rage was building again and Stiles could feel the edge of his lip lift in a silent snarl.

He raised the arm holding the paperweight and took a step forward. He didn’t notice as the prowling thing crowed its anticipation for blood. Took another step forward.

“I really need it now and I just left Allison with her Dad. Did you know there’s a demon in town?” Scott said.

Scott’s voice was like a slap of cold water and Stiles blinked away the haze in front of his eyes with all the confusion of a man surfacing from a deep sleep. His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth and he couldn’t help frowning a little. Heavy. Heavy like the-

With horror Stiles looked at the paperweight still gripped tight in his hand. He had- Scott...He had been ready to beat, to _kill_ -

Stiles stomach roiled as the bloodlust faded to the back of his mind. He’d been seconds away from beating Scott. He’d wanted to smash the stupid weight into the back of Scott’s head. Had wanted to watch as the other boy dropped to his knees _stopped touching his stuff_ and the blood seeped from under the wild, black strands. Had wanted to hit him over and over again until the solid glass crumbled and the stupid werewolf ceased being able to heal the cracks Stiles had made in his skull.

No. Stiles _still wanted to kill him_. The desire wasn’t fading, wasn’t going away.

_Too weak to protect your friends. Can’t even protect them from yourself._

The paperweight dropped to the ground with a solid thud.

“No need to be so shocked, the pack’s totally got it covered,” Scott finally looked at Stiles and froze as he registered Stiles’ heaving chest and the wild look in his eye. “Dude, what’s wrong?”

“Get out,” Stiles bit out through clenched teeth. He needed Scott to leave before the anger rose again. He couldn’t look at him anymore.

“What?” Scott dropped a handful of papers haphazardly onto the floor in shock. Stiles felt his eye twitch and his hand already missed the cool solidness of the paperweight.

“Get. Out.” Stiles’ knees felt shaky with the effort it took him to not jump Scott and rip his eyeballs from their sockets. He felt sick and shaky with nausea. When had he become such a monster?

You killed your mother. Murderer

_Like you could ever be anything else._

“Why?” Scott sounded more confused and wary. Easy prey. Stiles took a deep breath and tried to regain some of his composure.

“I don’t feel so good. I need you to go.” _Because I’m going to tear your throat out with my teeth._ Stiles had to fight a hysterical giggle.

“Are you sick or something?” Scott asked, suddenly worried, as Stiles grimaced in what appeared to be extreme pain. Stiles gave a quick, humorless laugh.

“Or something.” Just a little bloodlust, wanting to kill my former best friend. Nothing to worry about. Just finally snapped like the pathetic loser I am. Why, did you notice?

Stiles wavered a little and he put a hand on his desk to steady himself. Scott shot out a hand to help him but Stiles hit it away. He couldn’t have Scott touch him right now. He was sick, dangerous and still too angry. Way too angry.

“Let me help you,” Scott said. He took a step forward, intent on getting the other boy to his bed. He didn’t know what was wrong with Stiles but it was seriously freaking out. How did Stiles get like this? It must have happened recently because Scott would definitely have noticed before if he’d been like this. Stiles smelled sour and salty, sick and sweaty and angry. And a little bit like rotten eggs.

Well, that last one was probably because of the rotting eggs downstairs but Scott was still officially worried.

Stiles meanwhile was holding onto his control by a thread. He didn’t understand where this, this _violence_ was coming from but he couldn’t _think_. His head was screaming at him to get Scott _away_ to _make him go away_.

Scott was the reason Stiles was being ripped slowly apart. Scott was the start of the abandonment (No, that was your father), Scott was the reason he was alone. Stiles’ nails gouged out little rivulets of skin from his palm.

“Help me?” Stiles parroted. The notion seemed absurd. “Help yourself.” He couldn’t help the gasping laugh that left his burning throat.

“What?” Scott asked, even more confused. He looked like a puppy. Stiles remembered that people drowned puppies and he suddenly had a flash of what Scott would look like pressed underwater. Suffocating.

“I don’t want to see your face,” Stiles burst out. He was trying to convince himself. He did want to see Scott’s face as it twisted in agony while he died for his sins. “Get out.”

_Save yourself from me while you still can. Before I - before I ki-_

_Weak._

“What?”

“Is that all you can fucking say?” Stiles sneered, watching with a sick sort of satisfaction as the werewolf’s face twisted with hurt. But his anger still hadn’t abated.“You heard me, I want you out, get the fuck out of my room and don’t come back.”

“What’s wrong?” Scott’s voice was suddenly forceful, demanding. He’d never seen Stiles like this, so wild and manic. And Stiles always wanted to see Scott. Something was seriously wrong with him if he was telling _Scott_ to get out. It was Scott’s job to help Stiles.

“Now you ask what’s wrong?” Stiles couldn’t believe this shit. Liquid rage sloshed against his insides. He was out of control. “How like you to ask when it’s too late.”

“What are you even talking about?” Scott asked angrily. Stiles was talking like he was angry at him, like it was his fault that Stiles was sick. Scott hadn’t even been there!

“I’m talking about yesterday! Where the fuck were you? Fucking Allison?” That hadn’t been what he thought he was going to say.

“Is this about me not telling you I’d be gone?” The mystery had been solved. Stiles was acting like this because he felt left out, like always. Scott didn’t even feel guilt for forgetting to tell him and he wasn’t going to apologize.  “It was for pack training!” he said defiantly.

“I needed you and you weren’t there. But that’s nothing new,” Stiles snarled. That wasn’t what he had meant to say. He had meant to scream at Scott about not being pack. Hadn’t meant to bring up yesterday as it was too raw and painful still. But it was too late to stop himself now. Couldn’t if he wanted too.

Scott was burning with indignation.

“Sorry I can’t be there for every little crisis you have! I have a responsibility to the pack that kind of wins over whatever you’re mad about!”

Stiles needed to wipe that look off of his lopsided face. He felt ready to explode.

“Yesterday was the anniversary, you dick. Of my mom’s death.” Stiles was practically shouting by the end of it, breath heavy and labored.

“That was yesterday? I...I forgot.” Scott sounded shock and suddenly very small. Stiles suddenly felt incredibly defeated. He took the momentary absence of his fury to take a step back from Scott. Just in case.

That little voice in the back of his head laughed at the futility of it all.

“Yeah, I got that.” Scott hunched in on himself at Stiles’ words. He sounded so..so disappointed and the guilt rose to claim him. He was supposed to be there for Stiles and instead he’d been fucking around on a camping trip.

“Stiles...I am so sorry.” It was all he could say. He hoped Stiles could hear his sincerity.

Stiles had heard it all before.

 _Every single time was a lie_.

“I don’t fucking care,” Stiles spat, turning the hostility back on. Scott was shocked. Stiles usually apologized back. “Just like you don’t fucking care.”

“I care,” Scott protested, “I care, Stiles-”

“No you don’t! All you care about is your precious little pack. You haven’t cared in a long time, Scott, and I’m tired of it. I want you out. Out of my house, out of my life, just out.”

“Stiles...” Scott was in shock. What Stiles was saying, he couldn’t possibly mean. They were best friends, practically brothers. Stiles couldn’t know what he was saying.

“Shut up, Scott, and get the fuck out of here before I do something we’ll both regret.”

_You wouldn’t regret it and he wouldn’t be around too._

Scott stared at the cold visage of Stiles for a long moment before slowly nodding. Stiles looked on the verge of a panic attack. _Or a massacre_ , he thought unbidden. It was best to let him cool down. But he had come here for a reason and he knew it was the wrong thing to say even as his stupid mouth opened to speak.

“I need the bestiary.”

“Of course,” Stiles laughed weakly, “Of course. That’s why you’re here ‘cause god forbid it’s be for anything else.”

“That’s not-” Scott began but stopped as Stiles stalked towards him. He looked dark and angry and Scott could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Stiles looked like he was going to hit him.

Or kill him.

Scott flinched as Stiles’ hand shot forward and - yanked a flash drive from the side of his laptop with such force that they laptop jerked and fell to the ground with a too loud clatter. Stiles threw the flash drive at Scott’s head.

 “Take it and go.” Stiles spat. Scott hurried out of the room but paused at the door.

“GO.” The command seemed to boom in the suddenly too quiet room.

Scott ran, instinctively, and didn’t feel safe until he’d put the front door between him and Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, the demon is one sneaky son of a bitch. I mean he's being quite obvious in his manipulations but he just won't come out. He insisted on watching Stiles and Scott talk for forever. Ugh.


End file.
